


Fire

by Mottled_System



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System
Summary: Fire doesn't bear grudges; it just takes what it wants, regardless.
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Kudos: 14





	1. Then

The day had been long, but pleasantly so. You love training, always; you’re one of (if not  _ the _ , though you do try to avoid cockiness; better to underestimate yourself and compensate practically, then overestimate yourself and fail) Master Luke’s best students, but the others are still good enough to make fighting fun and worthwhile. Always something to learn, even from those less skilled than yourself.

Until  _ him _ \- until Ben Solo. He always throws a wrench in your day, always worms himself under your skin and wriggles there, uncomfortable. And he is not a thorn that’s easily removed from your side.

You’d just knocked down one of your better opponents and pointed the tip of your faux lightsaber at her throat, panting from a good fight, when Ben walked in, late again.

“You might have real competition this year, Solo,” joked one padawan, bringing a sour taste to your mouth.

At the crux of the competitions, after a perfect streak, Ben had managed to best you early on in a fight. You were determined to turn that particular table back on him at the end of this year, which was, as always, ever approaching.

Ben studied you for a moment as you helped the togruta onto her feet once more, and you semi-successfully hid a sneer. You could tell from the change in the air, though, that Master Luke noticed. He was very anxious about your-  _ intense dislike _ for his nephew, even as he himself grew ever warier of the boy.

But you didn’t  _ hate _ Ben- you’d never let it get to that point. You wanted him to thrive, sure- just not at your expense, as he always seemed to do.

“We’ll see about that,” Ben’s quasi-dismissal brought an unavoidable scowl to your face, and you swear you saw his lips twitch in the briefest of smirks. He took the togruta girl’s staff.

“You’re late,” you’d hissed, sounding more angry than you’d like. “And you think you can just- cut in line?”

“My apologies,” he said, then looked over at the line of people waiting to fight whoever had won the last round- which, for the last three rounds, had been you. “Does anyone mind?”

Silence.  _ Of course. Anything for Ben Solo. _ You managed to suppress this scowl, though bile was threatening to rise in your throat. You sighed and managed to act indifferent- or so you hope- and readied yourself.

The fight is long. Save for  _ that _ fight, they always are with Ben- you’re both very skilled, highly in tune with the Force. Sometimes, when he’s fighting other people, you can’t help but watch, feeling transfixed by his grace and expertise. You were a lot less  _ naturally _ gifted, and what you had had to work  _ so, so _ hard to achieve, Ben seemed to breeze through. If he hadn’t been late to so many lessons, missing several, he’d probably be leagues ahead of you by now.

And that did anger you. He was wasting his gifts, and you wanted to prove it to him, to give him a proverbial slap in the face.

It was a tie. No one won- in fact, perhaps you both lost. You’d both managed to miss an opening you were both exploiting; your staffs were pointed at the exact same point on each other’s chests, right above your hearts. You both panted, staring at each other in your stalemate. If this were a real fight, you’d probably kill each other. But, now, you both seemed to refuse to lower your staff first.

“That’s the end,” said a disappointed Master Luke. He was expecting you both to act rationally, to lower your staffs and move on. “You both lose. Two more opponents.”

Your eyes were locked on his, and he was daring you. Gritting your teeth, you lowered your staff first.

It felt like a horrible loss, only worsened by the proud glisten in his dark eyes. He poked your chest briefly with his staff as he lowered it, because he was Ben Solo, and of course he would do that.

“Where did you go wrong?” asked Luke as you both handed off your ‘weapons’.

“Overzealous,” you said quickly, before Ben could reply. He rolled his eyes, annoyed by your eagerness to please your shared Master. “Too determined to win rather than survive.”

“Good,” said Luke. “Ben, stay behind after class. We need to have a talk about your tardiness.”

You almost raised your chin, satisfied he’d be getting his come-uppance. Hopefully.

Now, you were sitting at a log alone around a fire, alone. You’re tired, but you know you’ll regret it if you fall asleep just yet; you’ll be up hours before training starts, and you’ll be bored out of your mind. Better to get over with it now, when you at least have the far-off noise of your fellow padawans to keep you company.

“Wondered where you’re at,” said a voice behind you, and you jumped. Ben walked up and sat a half a meter away, smirking. You should have sensed him, but you were lost in thought. You scowl into the darkness. “Skipped out on the party.”

“I don’t have any reason to celebrate, nor any desire to,” you mutter.

“Nor any friends to celebrate with.” The nonchalance he says this with stings perhaps more than the truth behind his words. He doesn’t think you mind being constantly alone, which means no one else does, either- which means you’re stuck alone unless you try and befriend someone yourself. You’d known that, of course, but the confirmation stung.

“Neither do you,” you almost hiss. He looks at you, half amused. He’s like a cat who finds it funny that the mouse detests him.

_ I am not a mouse _ . You’ve managed to offend yourself.

“Maybe we could be friends,” he says, though his tone makes it apparent how comical he finds that concept. As your anger erupts, you scowl at him, and he amusedly looks back at you with a light-hearted smirk.

“I don’t appreciate the mocking, Solo. Did you come out here just to make sport of me?”

“ _ ‘Make sport of’ _ you? No, Kenobi.” But he’s amused, mocking you for your words. He sits forward, grinning despite himself. “I don’t understand why you’re so- angry.”

“That’s rich coming from the man who’s two admonishments away from turning to the Dark side,” you seethe.

His face changes then, unamused. In an instant, he’s tense and guarded. He looks slighted as he eyes you with a new weariness, as he always does when you snap something a bit too cruel at him… And yet, the look is slightly different now, in a way you cannot verbalize. “Get up,” he commands, standing himself.

Surprised and a bit concerned, you lean back, trying to get a read on him. All you find is tenseness and secrecy. “What are you doing?”

“What I came over here to do,” he said, sounding almost- angry. You’re hit with a wave of it before he carefully re-erects his walls. Warily, prepared for a fight, you stand.

He moves towards you and in a strange, hurried frenzy, he leans down and kisses you full on the mouth. Your hands are on his shoulders in a moment; you’d been about to shove him away, thinking his movement an attack, but in your shock your hands settle on them. His lips are smooth, inexpert but intoxicating. His shoulders are broad and muscular.

You want to kiss him back. You want to rake your nails across his back, to taste and consume him.

And you’re horrified by that.

You shove him back and gasp, then slap him right across the face. He lets you, scowling at the ground for a moment. “Goodbye, Kenobi,” he says quietly, then turns and walks off.

You watch him go, awash with a renewed anger. How  _ dare _ he? Seething, and more than a little horrified with yourself, you stalk off to bed, resigned to be awake in the morning. You hope the partygoers- and your raging emotions- don’t keep you awake.

The fire is later that night, and you narrowly escape.


	2. Now

Years later, you’re a Resistance fighter, and Kylo Ren is on the hunt for Skywalker.

Han Solo is dead.

There’s a battle going on between the First Order and some of the Resistance, including you and Kylo Ren. You haven’t seen him, but you’ve heard the whispers.

And, because of course you do, you find yourself separated from the battle after chasing down a stormtrooper who had killed a friend. You’re numb to grief now, but the anger rages on inside you like a fire. Sometimes you think you are a fire, uncontainable, ready and willing to burn anything and everything down. You were foolish to think you could’ve ever been a Jedi- you just don’t have that kind of self-control.

A dark figure in front of you gives you pause- he wears a cloak, a mask, and is largely reminiscent of Darth Vader. Instinctively, you know this is Kylo Ren-

And he feels… Familiar… In a very unsettling way.

You both ready your lightsabers at the same time. His is crimson red and spitting plasma violently. Yours is pure white. There’s a brief, pregnant silence before you’re both headed for one another.

_ Crash, crash, crash _ . You both fight expertly. You can tell he’s been training for years, and his style is reminiscent of both the Jedi and the Sith, with a new, volatile twist.  _ Curious _ . Again, the way his large, strong body moves is unsettlingly familiar to you. You’re careful not to be distracted, just look for an in, a way to put an end to this monster you’ve heard so many terrible tales about.

Your arms collide and your sabers are pointed at one another’s chest. You’ve both managed to miss an opening you were both exploiting; suddenly, you’re hyper aware of exactly who you’re dealing with.

There will be no amicable, albeit reluctant, lowering this time.

“Ben Solo,” you gasp.

“Kenobi,” he says. His voice is strange and mechanical through his math. He sounds at once so familiar and so different from his old self, the boy you’d trained with, envied, despised.

Desired, briefly.

Dreamed of, occasionally.

That was so much more sickening to you, now that you knew what had become of him. Not some tragic loss in a fire, but- a monster. A true monster.

He lowers his lightsaber, and you gasp, standing there. His arms are at his sides, saber limp but still ignited. Yours is still pointed directly at his heart.  _ Kill him _ , you think, remembering that shaken Poe, the loss of Han Solo, the loss of so many either directly or indirectly because of Kylo Ren.

But you can’t focus on Kylo Ren, not with Ben Solo in your head. Almost weakly, you drop your arm as well. “What have you done, Ben? What have you become?” Your voice is a horrified, sad whisper.

He tenses. “That is not my name.”

You stare at the inhuman face of the mask he wears. “Take it off.”

There’s a pause before he indulges you, showing a long scar on his handsome, familiar face. He’s worn and tired, looking angry and sad and sick. He sheaths his lightsaber and you do the same.

You’re not sure why you do it, but you shoot forward towards him and stand on the tips of your toes to kiss him, holding his head in your hands. His spring defensively to your waist, but upon the inexpert nudging of your lips against his, they slink around you and lift you up, kissing you deeply.

He’s inexpert still, something that surprises you greatly. Still, you both kiss each other deeply, holding onto each other as if for dear life, your lips quickly finding a rhythm, your tongues dancing a desperate dance.

You’re shocked you would do this, after everything. As you melt more and more into him, and every other thought slips away, only that ones persists-  _ why _ ? You hated Ben, and you hate the monster he’s become even more. So why are you kissing him? Why are you clinging to his long, silky hair, moaning into his delicious, plush lips?

Fire doesn't bear grudges; it just takes what it wants, regardless.


End file.
